


resolute calm (before & after)

by nikidon (orphan_account)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Fantasy, Artist & Muse Concept, Gen, Nonbinary Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-18 22:52:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10626816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nikidon
Summary: There’s beads of condensation on their raincoat that glisten as they move, drips down their collar occasionally and leaves the feeling of frostmelt on their skin. Guang-Hong doesn’t mind it that much. Although irritating, it’s something that keeps them awake, wide-eyed and observant, and for that they’re willing to sacrifice even the least mundane of comforts in a place like this; they’d noticed, while in the field—the charge in the air isn’t just from the eminent rains.(It's in a small village tucked nigh perfectly between the foot of two hills, locked forever in a slow-moving manner of life, that Guang-Hong meets a painter named Leo and a means of trouble that could only be described as magical.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is dedicated to all the fyeahleoji mods on tumblr, and written for leoji week
> 
> [fyeahleoji](http://fyeahleoji.tumblr.com), [leoji week](http://leojiweek.tumblr.com)

**i.**

 

"Hold still," whispers Phichit, and amidst the fluttering of eyelashes and soft breaths in their ear Guang-Hong can hear the fine _scritch-scritch_ of eyeliner against their skin.

Guang-Hong's not sure how dolling themself up is related in any way to Phichit's project or his trip, but they hold their tongue anyway as Phichit flits around them, quick hands working nimbly on every last detail. "Can I look now?" They ask after a moment, feeling their hair tucked behind their ear neatly by a foreign hand and the soft swish of air as Phichit steps back swiftly.

"You look photo-ready," he says back, winking at Guang-Hong as they open their eyes. They're sitting at the mirror in the inn-room, old and gilded and a little smudged around the edges, but that doesn't really stop them from looking into their reflection and gasping.

"Phichit," they say, "is this me?"

Phichit laughs. "Who else?" He spins Guang-Hong around by the shoulders to look at them more closely. "Mm, it was right not to cover up your freckles. You'll be gorgeous on-camera." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and grins.

Guang-Hong quirks a brow, but it doesn't stop the flush that blossoms over their collar. "Phichit," they complain, "neither flattery nor doing my makeup will get me to pose for you."

Smile widening, Phichit paces around them teasingly. "But I still need a subject for some of my shots," he coaxes.

"So we'll go into town and find you a subject, and I can drag around all of your gear as usual." Standing up from the chair, Guang-Hong waves a hand as to fend off even the concept of posing.

"Please?" asks Phichit. He flops back onto his bed. "You still owe me, you know. I bought you a sandwich at the airport."

With a sigh, Guang-Hong nods, despite the apprehension pressing at the back of their consciousness. "If it comes to it. Let's try to find someone in town first?"

 

  
**ii.**

 

They don't find anyone in town. Phichit, affable and flexible as he is with most matters, is precise and selective when it comes to a subject for his pictures; by now, Guang-Hong is rather familiar with the choosy process of picking a model for Phichit.

It's the third time they've come on a photography-project trip with him, usually baited by the prospect of a free ride or a destination fallen out of a dream, and each time Guang-Hong has chosen to come along it's been worth it. This time, they've arrived in a small village tucked nigh perfectly between the foot of two hills, perpetually embedded in a slow-moving kind of life that some would call romantic and others downright boring. For his latest project, Phichit had proclaimed, it was perfect.

Or so he'd thought. Guang-Hong thinks resentfully of the multi-kilometer trek they'd made that morning searching for a good place to shoot and considers the thought of buying a cardboard celebrity cutout to pose for Phichit. Maybe one of those new drama stars, like that Cao Bin, or maybe that one romance movie actor Georgi Popovich or something.

Well, anything to get themself out of posing; Guang-Hong has a distaste for being a subject in a photo series. It's partially because of their concern of being disappointing and partially because they hadn't done it before and, well, didn't want to look stupid.

"It's a shame," complains Phichit as the two of them sit at a small table in the local café sharing a pastry.

Guang-Hong nods in agreement as they poke at the danish at the center of the table. "Yeah," they agree. "Shame." They're more fixated on the pastry than what Phichit is saying, which he promptly picks up on.

The silverware clicks with the impact of Phichit's elbows as he drops his weight onto the table. "Which means...?" He begins, a playful lilt to his voice, and Guang-Hong winces slightly. They'd made that agreement thinking that they'd be able to actually find someone to pose for Phichit. But, in this sleepy town tucked away in the fields, there couldn't have been even two hundred residents, so they probably should've known better.

That being said, they didn't, so Guang-Hong sighs and nods grudgingly, squishes down the aversion that bubbles in their chest. "Which means," they conclude, "I'll pose for you."

 

  
**iii.**

 

The flower-fields aren't a long walk away from the village, three winding cobblestone alleys and two forks in neatly-kept gravel paths to the first field where daisies stem shyly from the long grasses and little clusters of poppies dot patches of the land. The sky is blanketed with a cover of pale grey clouds that hang low over the scape, and the electric scent of rain hangs distant in the air.

Phichit looks over and smiles. "So," he says, and the syllable lilts easily, naturally, "this is the place?"

“Maybe,” Guang-Hong replies, looking to the faint shadow of the hills rolling in the distance, made obscure and faint with the presence of a pearly mist that swathes the lands, generously; there’s a rift between the stretches of hills and a valley’s river winding through the split. The scene, idyllic as it is, holds some sort of melancholy resonance, some static tension to the air, almost hauntingly. They shiver, a bit—early spring’s not yet unkind to warmth, and neither to cold—and tug at the lapel of their claret raincoat, looking back over to Phichit.

Appreciatively, Phichit hums and reaches for the pack Guang-Hong’s slung over one shoulder. “Perfect, then,” he says, taking the black bag and kneeling down on the ground. “Can you,” he continues, not looking up as he rummages through the bag, “walk out a little way to the center of the field? I’ll take some from a distance and a few close-up afterwards.”

Guang-Hong nods (although Phichit won’t see it) and sets down the umbrella they were carrying in their other hand, stepping carefully over patches of vermilion poppies and carefully pushing their way through the long grass. It brushes up a little below their waist; Guang-Hong’s not the tallest person around, standing at precisely one-seventy centimeters (bless their end-of-high-school growth spurt) and they’re not the shortest either, rather a comfortable medium in-between. When they’ve put a few dozen meters between themselves and the edge, Phichit calls out to stop and they do, pausing half-turned to Phichit’s camera.

“Hold that,” calls Phichit from the place where he’s assembled his camera, and Guang-Hong complies. “Good choice with the raincoat—” Phichit adds after a few moments, still taking pictures, “—it matches everything, too.” He’s not yelling, but the cadence of his voice carries clear across the fields. It resonates, in the silence, and when the words are lost to the echo it sounds like a call from a dream.

 

 

**iv.**

 

When Phichit finishes with taking photos from a distance, he gestures for Guang-Hong to move back. “Careful,” he yells over the distance, “everything is slippery.” Guang-Hong nods in assent and begins to carefully pick their way back again, their fingers numb from standing still in the mist.

There’s beads of condensation on their raincoat that glisten as they move, drips down their collar occasionally and leaves the feeling of frostmelt on their skin. Guang-Hong doesn’t mind that much. Although irritating, it’s something that keeps them awake, wide-eyed and observant, and for that they’re willing to sacrifice even the least mundane of comforts in a place like this; they’d noticed, while in the field—the charge in the air isn’t just from the eminent rains.

They push their way through the grasses to the edge of the field. When they see Phichit’s expression, they know he feels it, knows it, too, this strange buzz juxtaposed over the silence—Phichit sets down his camera on his bag and takes Guang-Hong by the shoulders, looking a little curious and a little bit excited as he speaks. “You feel it, too, don’t you?” He asks, looking around. “There’s _something_.”

“Yes,” replies Guang-Hong, “something.” They glance around—over Phichit’s shoulder to see, with a start, another person sitting at the edge of the flower-field—before pulling their attention back to Phichit’s wide eyes. “I don’t know what, though.”

“Which is _exactly_ why we should find out,” declares Phichit, grasping firmly at Guang-Hong’s hands, much to their dismay. They don’t share the curiosity that Phichit has with this, his insatiable appetite to _know_ (both of them are perceptive, to an extent, but where Guang-Hong accepts Phichit _dissects_ , so the similarity ends where it does). Rather, there’s a feeling, as if this place, the thing to know, was something sacred or wondrous, and Guang-Hong would much rather prefer to stay and _feel_ it.

However, before they can voice this, something moves in the corner of their vision and Guang-Hong turn abruptly to see the person, the one sitting at the field’s edge, coming in their direction. When Guang-Hong squints they can make out a canvas carried under the person’s arm, a case of paints with it, and a quick flash of instinct they tug Phichit along. “Come on,” they say. “Let’s meet whoever that is halfway.” And, because they can, they pick a single poppy flower, just for the time.

 

 

**v.**

 

The field is big, and the space between them and the painter even greater, but as Guang-Hong walks it almost feels as if the paths bend and warp so that in almost no time they come face-to-face with the painter. “Hello,” the painter says pleasantly, when they meet, “I came here to work on my latest project and I saw you posing for pictures with your friend.” He smiles, and his eyes crinkle a bit at the corners.

Guang-Hong, a bit taken aback by the informality, nods slowly. “For a project of his,” they say cautiously, feeling a little bit self-aware. “I agreed to help.”

The painter nods. He brings his free hand up to the back of his neck, looking away for a moment as if he were nervous to ask, but when he does speaks he sounds, to Guang-Hong, assured. “I was wondering if you could pose for me sometime? I can pay you for your service.”

“ _What_ ?” Guang-Hong asks in surprise. “Why?” The request’s sudden, inelegant at best and arrogant at worst, but something in the back of their mind whispers _it’s probably different around here_ so Guang-Hong tries to stomach their unease.

The painter looks away again, not meeting their gaze. “Think about it, yeah?” He says, avoiding the question. “My name’s Leo. We’ll meet again.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> idk this was really rushed bc i didnt have time or the means for a beta this time, but i wanted at least one (1) ONE piece of my shitty stuff up for leoji week so if u look closely u can see like .2 mentions of flowers to align w/ the prompt "flowers" lmao?
> 
> i might republish and refinesse this into one complete volume after everything is up, for personal satisfaction and so that i can revise and make it hopefully A Little Less Shitty idk


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